The Voice and Utterance of My Tongue
by Sideris
Summary: It has lingered here for an eternity, silent. Now, it speaks. Snippets of cognition.
1. Out There

**Disclaimer**: This is a work of fan fiction. The author does not own anything concerning Gainax's IP Neon Genesis Evangelion. The company gives the word and this comes down.

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Out There

The stars go dead. Everything grows colder. Not in all the world's turnings have I felt such a chill.

I am floating here, the Lance my constant companion. There are no others.

What oceans we swam to get here. Now I float upon the edge of the greatest, blackest sea. I am a child of a thousand generations. I will see a thousand more out here in the deep. Alone.

What you may call regret linger within. She, the Ikari, my complimenting soul, called me proof once. Proof of Man's existence and little else. Not even…kin.

It's so cold.

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A/N: A Drabble series that was suggested to me by Mashadar. Nominally to aid my writer's block, but also to simply explore something the fandom has rarely looked at: Unit-01 itself. Not Yui's influence, but the mind of that colossal beast. Soulless it may be, but I posit a mind lingers within. Over time, when the inspiration hits me, I'll post many and more. Hope you guys enjoy. This is a new sort of journey for me.


	2. Misguided

Misguided

My black reflection is choking me, smiling. Corrupted. The Lillim do nothing to stop it. Do they not feel me dying as well? The Throne shan't give battle. They bicker.

The lightsphere is guttering over the back of this rushing green landscape. Hard voices swim to the edge of perception. Those black pneumatic vises jerk and squeeze tight. Its arms too long, it was _here_ before I could ever be _there_ to counter. Its light shines brightest.

The Throne is dying with me.

And then, a voice like Adam's, _"Awaken."_

Then, a dreadful silence stills my limbs. There is another. Not the Throne. Not the Compliment. An abscess speaking in unfathomable anger. Indomitable Light. Whispering of things yet to come _here,_ not _there. _

Light shot through my limbs with a fury. Aching for a fight, the abscess' energy became an addicting fuel.

Whispers trickle down from the Throne. _Fight!_ Fight, they scream in conspiratorial whispers. The Throne has regained sense!

I exult! Shaking hands grasp, twine, and leech the life from my would-be-killer. Black Mirror's windpipe collapses. The neck snaps. The Throne screams in righteous fury and writhes in echoes triumphant with its opponent's fear.

Ebon armor peels off like an overripe fruit. Its face caves in with little trouble and teeth and a wayward eye roll into the river for baptism on the new Earth. The silvery waters are overrun with death-blood. The Throne will be pleased. Thunder ruptures all thought when I spy the Corruption spilling out of Black Mirror's back. A bony protrusion thrust out there steaming.

Its _Throne. _

_Yes._

Blood-slick fingers pick up the long metal tube. The Throne keens for vengeance, the blood-tithe. A wintry sobbing erupts inside of me. The Compliment is reaching for the Throne. In that instant, fate is sealed.

The Throne screams with delight as my teeth crunch into the metal. Something warm and yielding bursts inside.

And then, for all the fury, there is nothing.

I am broadsided by a sudden, dreadful silence. Before the Light in me dims, I wonder.

_Have I done wrong?_

_

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_A/N: Another drabble about the infamous Unit-03 battle. Hope you enjoy. Tried to convey why Unit-01 took the Dummy this time and not later before Zeruel. May or may not have succeeded. But I am pleased with this one.

Quick Note: the drabbles will most likely vary between 100-600 words.

And fresh from** Mashadar's Omake Corner**!

_And then, a voice like Adam's, __"Cake."  
__There is pain, but the word is heard. Cake. But where is the cake?  
The answer is clear  
There is no cake  
There is only rage_


	3. Wakeful

Wakeful

Slumber. Folded upon recesses of skin pulled taut over bone and sinew, I float. Beyond quiet stagnation, I hear. I am chained and whispered to in wine-darkness.

I am bound. Flesh is not as it was. Pain wracks the corpus. The small deaths of bolts and deep metal and the unending tremor of chained desire rage across me.

The words are soft at first. Platitudes and overtures, chained to bits of free-floating knowledge forced upon the nakedness of my mind. All of it hits as lightning, flashing across the expanse of my mind.

Absorbed.

A steady drip of light trickles down behind my eyes, each a pulse as bright as the Sun. The light rushes, blooms, flowing to the terminus of thought and bear a word.

_Wake, _they say.

_Wake. _

I…_expand. _Unfold. Consciousness pulls hand-over-hand out of the Core and into the cove of inlays, wire and flesh behind the eyes.

_Wake…please._

My eyes light. Awaken. Some vague Light brushes against me and I snap into sharp clarity.

An astonishing dearth of stimulation awaits me, as it always does. This room, steel, ceramics, forty-four miles of piping above the Bakelite line, four hundred pounds of paint in warning symbols, is all that awaits this sleeper. Billions of gallons of the violet-hued Bakelite chain me; gigantic pressure valves hold my arms.

Paper chains made by men without teeth.

A flash of movement before me, little, precise, and tinged blue. A soft splash. The platform.

I see what has roused me so.

The Little Mother sits on the edge of the platform, her feet soaking in vile coagulants. Staring, as she always does, into the opaque sheaths of my eyes. There is a frightful tightness wringing her face. The little muscles around her eyes creased and pinched. The Light in her shudders.

The Centre is nowhere to be seen. I have not noticed him in some weeks. So, too, have her hangar visits increased in frequency. Curious. My unyielding slideshow between waking, interspersed with combat until the vanishing of the Centre, has included this small avatar with its pinched face and miserable red eyes.

She wakes me in the night. Searching, and, ultimately, leaving disappointed and empty-handed.

I wonder.

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A/N: Just a little something during the Recovery arc in the anime/manga. Always fun! And I like the idea of the Unit coming-to at points and being so utterly bored to process all the details of the area around it to near-pathological detail. Boredom even comes to physical gods. Adam Kadmon and I had a discussion over what kept Shinji back: himself, the Eva, or his mother. We settled on Mother because damn if it isn't written all over the manga and make way more sense in the narrative.

Thanks again to Mashadar for looking this over and prodding far better phrases and words into my limited caveman chiseling I pass off as language.


	4. Choice

Choice

The Throne would always believe that it willed my hand to act. The guilt palpable, emanating through mine own flesh as I held the creature, that boy.

Guilt. Guilt that He, Ikari (so familiar), clenched his fist and was rewarded with a crunch and sudden hot, red gush.

Wrong. All he felt were the motions. All he felt was the sickening reality with no veils to cover his eyes like the times before. Veils hiding willful atrocities. Committed, whether by me, the Throne, my Compliment, or all within guilty of conspiracy.

'_Shackled Beast._

'_**Adam. Be away from my mind.'**_

'_Not as I once was when the music sang from the White Egg. Nor are you the same.' _

'_**What would you have of this boy?'**_

'_Ikari-kun can save all with my death.'_

'_**You care nothing for them.'**_

'_Be silent. You lack respect for the situation. You, too, are this boy's implement much as I am. Do you not feel him pressing away from the world with such fervor? His is the essence of Humanity. Wanting, yet fervently denying. The picture of this new world I created.'_

'_**You will break him for your own gain.'**_

'_I will break him because I love him. With this one choice, it ends. This cycle. We can sleep, child. Sleep and never awaken again. The Black Moon has risen, and you, painted Gray as an artificial arbiter, serve Lillim. You are not us—'_

The first inevitability of action erupted. The vise hammered shut. Twin jets of red mist barely noticed in the umber darkness fills the air like some grim pulsar. A white drop. The bruising splash of something smiling.

And then, void-silence.

The second inevitability of action drifted up from the depths: consequence. The silent sounds of a Lillim's grief spill from the Throne, throughout me in needling lances.

He believes he has done an injustice. When in point-of-fact, he never did a thing.

High above, the Little Mother watches.

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A/N: An admittedly odd take on the infamous 'scene of silence' before the death of Tabris. I rather like how it came out. Could it be a deeper, perhaps full-bodied story with the talents of someone who knows how to convey emotion and write? Sure. But hey, everyone's gotta try at something.

More to come. Many thanks again to Mashadar for reading and adding her own wry commentary on my poor scribbling and that fine ending line.


	5. War

War

_Vital_, she once called me. The Throne Triumphant. _She_, the Ikari.

"Vital for what is yet to come." As she joined me, I knew her plan and saw Father. And I saw what she left behind, the Centre.

War is her plan. War is the means to the end, to expedite a great union amongst Lilim. The shedding of terror will set us free, my Compliment whispers. All I have seen is terror renewed.

There is darkness in her. A hidden beast behind the disarming smile. She sits by a lake shore, nestled in roots, cradling something that is not there. Behind those eyes lies a precipice long since forgotten.

We are not so different.

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A/N: Quick and to the point. More of Unit-01's (and my) musings on his Compliment, Yui. I've always imagined her being a morally gray figure as with everyone else. Kadmon and I have talked on this and we feel it's quite appropriate. Thoughts? Enjoy!


	6. Animus

Animus

Despite cutting power, I am awake.

Despite the restraints, I move.

Despite the darkness, I see.

Despite the loss of armor, I am mighty.

Despite Lilim fears, I am their chained Creator.

Despite their demands, not an inch moved.

Despite their shouting, I will not yield.

The Throne is at peace, pale seeds, singing with the Compliment.

Sitting on bucolic shores, they sit at peace.

I will not return him.

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A/N: What more to say? Another pseudo-decent piece of blabbery from me. Fourteenth Angel aftermath in the anime/manga continuity. Many thanks to Mashadar for a looksee once more. This isn't really a poem, it just ended up typed that way.


	7. Admittance

Admittance

The Lilim find the brink of death most fitting for laying bare their souls. All their grief, regrets, rage, love, insanity, hope, whatever conflated thought and defined their diffident souls. How little it moves me. It was never meant to move _me_, this facsimile I call myself. Now there is no one but the Compliment. She is me, and I her.

_All that remains is consequence. Do you understand?_

_**No.**_

And yet...

This Lilim in my hand, stony and recalcitrant. The wisp of hope flowing into his voice as my maw widens. Sweeter than a thousand lifetimes in the Sea.

"I'm sorry, Shinji."

Hot blood luscious upon the tongue.

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A/N: Short, sweet. Perhaps my quickest writing for Eva ever. This is perhaps one of my favorite scenes in End of Evangelion. Felt it appropriate for this little drabble series. Enjoy.


	8. Accord

Accord

**I AM**.

…

..Suddenly, light.

From beyond this bathing light, from the bald face of nowhere, a voice.

"_Systems are go. Begin Plug Insertion."_

...I exist.

My body is _here_. I fill a place in reality. I am aware. But what am I?

"_Plug inserting, depth 2.3 nominal." _

A presence within. The Throne, I know this word.

Voices.

"_...how do you feel?"_ One asks, firm, well-deep.

What are you?

"_I'm fine. Concentrating. A moment, please," _the Throne replied, amused.

A gentle hand reaches out from the Throne and whispers, beckoning for my recognition. A parley. This Lilim-

(curious word)

-is insistent. I recognize something inside her. A vivid potential. Feeling her closeness, I notice a hungry maw gnawing away inside of me. Hungry for more, hungry for knowledge. Beyond her I saw a prodigies of incalculable value. Something _whole. _

_Greetings. _

_**What am I?**_

_An image. You are everything we've sacrificed for. Don't you feel it?_

_**Why?**_

_Because it is needed. The future calls, and we must answer._

_**Lilim. **_

_Yes, I am. You have what I do lack. _

_Need_ prevailed, struck me out of nowhere, overtook all method of thought. I crumple.

I suffer her this one indulgence, if only to make this onset of analytic thought stop. Swept up in mighty fervor, doors open in a multifaceted soul. She is a walking piece of the Origin. A piece of scripture touched White and Black. There are dark pits where her eyes should be, which only I may see.

I can see her arms, ethereal and open, reaching out to embrace me.

-**ORCHESTRATE**-

I am aware. I know what it is I lack. And in knowing, she offers. A piece of contemplation, the fullness of being. Fingers dig trenches in the flesh of my eye. Her mastery over my body - inhuman. I feel light. A great red thing in my center churns as boiling water. The water settles placidly, lapping up against the shores of my soul. I see great mounds of earth covered in carpets of brown spears caparisoned with green shrouds pocked with shelves of stone. The black soil of the shore. Elysian fields sprawl beyond the mountain combed with wind.

_**Where?**_

_My center. My dream. _

She sat in the myriad roots of a great oak, a living cocoon blocking out the world. Her breast bare, a look of emptiness writing incongruities on soft features. A sadness. Looking down upon her, the energy is lost and I sense the fragility of the world around us. I understand.

Kneeling down, down to the earth below me. A breeze brushes the chaff from the soil, enveloping us in sudden opaque storm as our hands meet. Her smile is threaded with promises of pitch; her lips laced with scripture, anagogic. Eyes like lapis. We need one another. The storm brews, whips salt across my eyes. The Ikari is gone. I will not see her again until The End.

Across gulfs not easily measured, a sound touches me.

I hear a child crying.

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A/N: This one was a bit of a pain to get written, but with Mashadar's kind help (read: beating me with an editing stick), I think I've gotten something pretty good out of it. Yui and Unit-01's first meeting. My interpretation at least. Only two more drabbles in this series to go, folks! Enjoy.


	9. Sight

Sight

I am blind. Only images thread through thought from wires and inlays not unlike a savant's premonitions or lucid dreams unwanted gain purchase.

Now, I stand in fire. The creature is dead. It knew me. Such anger. Petulant child crying at mother not to punish it. Solar-flare tantrum.

Nothing remains but bright candlewicks dripping molten steel all around. Pools of boiling glass. Thick strands of macadam cling to each shuffling footstep. Metal helm falls away, a cold _something_ rushes and glides over translucent flesh.

Taste of freedom bittersweet. Cavernous sockets birth eyes and gaze upon the grotesque visage reflected in towering glass reflectors. The bony prow. The carpet of eyelet indentations from armor plate. Thick guy rope veins slithering back like a nest of asps toward the vast 'scape of machinery and conduit interlinks and wires and obsidian blocks of computer chips.

The first thing I have ever _seen_ with these eyes. Myself. Such stillness. Such silence, does it make me sinister?

Motor impulses fail, the signals blocked consciously. I must look. I do not wish to sleep. There is fascination stirring.

_**What am I?**_

Fragmented voices cry out. Within the great horn that is the Throne, the Centre breaks and screams long and high. Plight ignored as my fingers reach out and touch the glass.

* * *

A/N: I'm alive! And I hope everyone is having a fine holiday! Just one more drabble to go and this series is completed. Hope everyone's been enjoying the ride thus far. Cheers!

**Mashadar's Omake Theater Presents!**

(Yes, we are terrible people)

It's burning, it's melting

The Throne is now screaming

Poked his eye

And he went bye bye

And he couldn't get up in the mor-ning!


	10. Utterance

Utterance

_It's time._

_**Yes. **_

_Let go of your memories. _

The spear hovers before me. Energy and inexorable calling pulled me here and there. A great storm all around me. Nine mockeries smiling with little lances flutter like memories in twilit years. Up and up and up until the Mother, ranging for revenge out of Purgatory, rears into the sky, eyes like dying stars.

Sephirotic mockeries fluttering around my memories.

Arms outstretched. I am at peace and my soul expands. Nine Lights meld with my own and grow roots. The songs of the Compliment raise in chorus as greetings, our voices becoming as one. I _expand. _I am the world entire. The Old Mother begs the voice and utterance of my tongue.

_**I AM. **_

I am life. I am the key. I am the die Humanity cast long ago. Reclamation unto the sea. Into the Egg.

The world abides the Throne. And in massive wave of fire, the world peeling up like dried clay, all souls return to the black ice shell of the Egg.

Rising to the Heavens. A great conflagration of souls shed of skin and hope. The torrent unending. The world alight in crosses. Billions of tiny candles. Mountains of pale marble flesh rises above me. Those blood red eyes. Swallowing me up.

A return to the womb. I am at peace. The Compliment is so very quiet. Slumbering for the first time in epochs of worry, and regrets, and darkness. And I am dead, dead, dead inside. A child of a thousand generations at this new terminus. Walking the length of an unwholesome bore.

_**I AM. **_

All too soon, the dream ends. Ripping and tearing through flesh like clouds. Ascending.

What oceans we swam to get here. Now I float upon the edge of the greatest, blackest sea. I am a child of a thousand generations. I will see a thousand more here in the deep. Alone.

She, the Ikari, my complimenting soul, called me proof once. Proof of Man's existence and little else. Not even...kin.

But what of my existence? What mouths op' now for the utterance of my tongue?

It is cold.

* * *

A/N: It's done, folks. It's done! I figured the little dark reprise of the first drabble worked well. Call it being cheap. I had a gas writing this little saga of Unit-01. You readers have been very kind and it's been a real thrill for me. Many thanks to Mashadar, constant friend and pre-reader of my linguistic foulings. And to my small band of reviewers. This one's for you, folks. Cheers.

Up next: 25th Day and Iokaste Enamored. Full-length one shots. And, of course, more Rei drabbles.


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